


Five times Bucky and Clint didn't say a lot to each other, and one time they did.

by demonsonthemoon



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (described though not too graphic), (i think), Akoiro!Clint Barton, Bucky came back after TWS and he's trying to get better, Canon Divergent, Developing Friendships, Gen, PTSD, Panic Attacks, all your faves are arospec, caedro!Bucky Barnes, shared silences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 15:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7273813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonsonthemoon/pseuds/demonsonthemoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's therapist tell him he needs social contact to be able to become himself again. Bucky understands. He understands, but that doesn't mean he likes it, because social contact involves people and loudness and talking, and it's all a bit too much.</p><p>Luckily, Clint Barton doesn't mind the silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five times Bucky and Clint didn't say a lot to each other, and one time they did.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for #Aggressively Arospec Week.
> 
> I headcanon Clint as akoiromantic and post-Winter Soldier!Bucky as caedromantic (though I'm not sure I properly did justice to that in this fic... sorry).
> 
> (Also, Bucky is really hard to write, damn.)

One.

 

The therapist he was seeing had told him he needed social contact, and Bucky understood. He was supposed to build himself a stable support system. He was supposed to create bonds with others. What had allowed him to be the Winter Soldier was complete isolation. Now he had to become the opposite of that.

Bucky understood, but it didn't change the fact that social contact usually meant _loudness_ and _movement_ and _too much_.

Bucky didn't handle _too much_ very well. Best case scenario, he shut down completely. He stopped moving, stopped talking, stopped listening, stopped doing _anything_ until his body and mind started feeling numb. And usually someone (Steve) had to gently coax him out of it. If the coaxing-out wasn't soft enough, well... Most often he would fall straight into worst case scenario. That one meant his mind turning blank and him becoming violent. And then someone (Steve) had to snap him out of it before he hurst someone else, which usually meant a lot of damage to the furniture. And to Bucky. And to Steve.

So, through trial and error, Bucky had learned to avoid parties. He had learned to avoid video games night. He had learned to avoid karaoke, Tony and Steve talking to each other if Bruce wasn't there (which, unfortunately, meant most of the time) and walking past Tony's lab when he was “onto something”.

Movie night he could manage, sometimes, if it was a good day. Watching a movie meant he didn't have to talk. It also meant that most of the others wouldn't talk either. And if he happened to tune out, it was okay, it was only a movie.

And so Bucky found himself sitting on a beanbag in front of what Tony insisted was a television even though it covered half the wall. Today hadn't exactly been a good day, but it hadn't been a bad day either. It had been a day. Bucky had woken up from a nightmare, then had eaten breakfast with Steve. And when Steve had left for one of the several volunteering jobs he had taken up to keep busy, Bucky had stared at a wall, waited for exactly five minutes, then had walked out of the tower and hadn't come back until the evening.

It had been a day.

Steve was talking to Natasha about this Russian artist he could not believe she hadn't heard about, while Pepper and Tony were arguing about what movie to watch. It was technically Pepper's turn to choose, but Tony had unhelpfully decided to help her.

But Bucky wasn't listening to them. Instead, he was listening to Steve. Actually he was staring at Steve, in that way he knew made others uncomfortable, that way that indicated he wasn't quite sure whether all of this was real or not but he was trying to hold onto it anyway.

Steve was there, right in front of him, and it was real. It wasn't a dream. It wasn't some hallucination. It wasn't just a trick of his fucked-up memory.

It scared the shit out of Bucky.

He managed to snap out of his daze when Steve and Natasha both turned around towards the TV. Apparently they had ended up picking a rom-com which Tony claimed was the masterpiece of this century. Bucky was content with the choice, because it probably didn't involve any gunfights or explosions.

He tried to settle in and focus on the screen, forcibly reducing his field of vision, turning off his hyper-vigilance as much as possible.

The lead actress had long and wavy brown hair, and a voice that reminded him of something. He frowned. He was certain he didn't know her from any of the movies they had watched at the tower, and he couldn't have known her before that, since she seemed to still be in her fourties. His left shoulder started itching, right where it gave way to his metal arm.

Nobody seemed disturbed by it either, so Bucky did his best to ignore the odd feeling. He tried to follow the plot of the movie, but couldn't seem to focus on it, watching the others instead.

Pepper, Rhodey and Tony were sharing one couch, Natasha and Steve the other, and Clint was sitting on the ground against Natasha's knee. Tony and Pepper obviously knew the movie by heart, turning towards each other during the moments they liked the most, or trying to judge their friends' reaction to some of the lines.

Bucky adjusted his position on the beanbag. He felt warm.

The main actress screamed, a teacup falling from her hands in surprise, as she noticed someone in her living-room.

Bucky froze. He could swear that he had heard that voice before. The memories he had of the Winter Soldier were even more hazy than those of his former life, and he knew he shouldn't go looking for them, knew that they would only bring pain, but he couldn't help himself. Pictures were coming forward of their own accord. A scream, not of surprise, but of pain. A night, hot and humid, the air heavy with the threat of thunder, so much that it almost felt uncomfortable to breathe. Or maybe it was Bucky now whose lungs felt too heavy to take in any oxygen. He focused on the woman on the screen. It wasn't her. He knew it wasn't her, just someone who'd had the same voice as her.

The woman in his memories had blond hair, Bucky thought. He wasn't sure. Details like that hadn't been important to the mission. The only important thing had been to find and eliminate the target, make sure the kill couldn't be traced back to him or to Hydra, dispose of the collaterals if he had too. It had all been cold and clinical, so much so that it didn't feel like a memory at all.

Bucky forced himself to breathe more slowly. He was still in control, somehow, hadn't retreated to the distant silence of his old programming. But it was hard to keep breathing steadily enough that the others wouldn't notice his panic. He turned away from the screen to see whether the Avengers were onto him, but Steve seemed to be completely caught in the movie, while Natasha was watching with an amused smile on her face. Tony was talking to Pepper in low tones, to the exasperation of both her and Rhodey. There was one pair of eyes on him, though, and that was Clint Barton's.

He and Bucky didn't know each other well, since Bucky was not one to start conversations. Clint seemed cheerful most of the time, but he wasn't the kind of person that looked for the spotlight like Tony, and tended to stay in the background instead.

The blond man caught Bucky's eyes and frowned slightly. He moved one hand, discreetly, forming a circle with his fingers, then raising his index and straightening his middle finger perpendicularly, the tip of his thumb between the two fingers. He then cocked his head to the side, as if asking a question. Bucky frowned.

Nobody seemed to have noticed them, and Clint pointed at Bucky before repeating the set of gestures, curling his index finger in Bucky's direction at the end of it.

He was still breathing a bit more heavily than normal, which made it difficult to focus on what Clint was doing, but he guessed that this must be some sign language, since Clint was holding his gaze as if they were having a conversation. From Clint's concerned expression, he gathered that he must have been asking whether Bucky was okay.

The ex-soldier was suddenly glad that he had chosen to sit close to the floor, since it made he and Clint's conversation a lot less obvious to the others, all seated above them.

He shrugged in the archer's direction, then nodded. He was fine, after all, he wasn't lost, just... scared, a bit.

Clint opened his hand, palm up, and raised it from his belly to the top of his chest. He then counted from four to one with his fingers, then turned his palm down and slowly let it drop to his belly. He counted to four again, then gestured towards Bucky, inviting him to follow his lead as he went through the set of movements again.

It was a simple technique to regulate his breathing, to prevent him from starting to properly hyperventilate. Bucky found himself following Clint's lead without thinking about it. He felt slightly silly at how comforting it was to have someone simply counting with him, but didn't question it when he felt his breathing gradually come back to normal.

He nodded to Clint, who smiled and turned back towards the screen like nothing had even happened. When Bucky turned his look upwards a bit, he saw Natasha watching him with interest in her eyes, but didn't acknowledge her. He felt tired, suddenly, and as soon as the credits of the film started rolling, he stood up and excused himself out of the room. He had no idea what that rom-com was even about.

 

Two.

 

Bucky had quickly caught on to the fact that giving the _impression_ he was enjoying and actively looking for social contact was often enough to reassure Steve.

Most of the Avengers were busy with one thing or the other during the day, and would only come back to the tower in the late afternoon.

Bucky, on the other hand, had a whole lot of nothing to do. Steve had asked him to join him a few times at one of the volunteering job he did when he wasn't on Avengers business, but Bucky didn't feel ready for that yet. So he spent most of his days alone, which didn't make Steve happy.

And so Bucky had taken the habit to come back to the Tower in the afternoon and to spend time in the living-room. It was adjacent to the kitchen, so a good spot to catch the flow of people coming and going. By staying there, Bucky could exchange a few words with those who came in search of snacks, but it didn't involve the commitment of sitting down with them for dinner.

One late afternoon, Bucky had planned to settle himself down with a book, but found one of the couches occupied by the sleeping form of Clint Barton.

They hadn't talked about Bucky's panic attack during movie night. They hadn't talked a lot, actually. Clint said hi, Bucky said hi back. Sometimes the archer made terrible jokes, and sometimes Bucky would chuckle, make a sound that wasn't quite a laugh but not quite not-a-laugh either, and be embarrassed at how much that would make Steve smile.

The television wasn't on, and Clint didn't have a phone or tablet out either. His clothes were crumpled in places. He seemed to have just collapsed on the couch and started sleeping right away, which didn't make a lot of sense, since he could have done that in his room a floor away. He was also on the couch closest to the window, which was the one Bucky would usually have sat on to read. That was another thing his therapist had advised him to do: create new habits, little things that could help anchor him in the here and now. But Bucky decided that habits weren't worth waking Clint over. He sat down on the armchair that was closest to the kitchen instead, and picked up his copy of Return of the King.

Bruce was there for the week, and came by the kitchen to take something to eat for him and Tony, asking Bucky to warn whoever was there that they would be taking dinner in the lab. If he noticed Clint sleeping, he didn't say a word about it, quickly putting together some sandwiches and casually talking with Bucky about their respective tastes in literature. Apparently he was a thriller kind of guy, which Bucky wouldn't have guessed, but he tried to hold onto the information, in case he ever had to find Bruce a present.

Steve and Sam came in next, back from a jog, and they only took a glass of water before going off to shower.

Clint started stirring a few minutes later. Somehow, Bucky couldn't stop staring, observing the process of his waking. Clint's first response to consciousness was apparently to groan and close his eyes harder, which made Bucky smile. Then he sighed and actually opened his eyes, slowly sitting up and rubbing at his face. It was only after that was done that he actually looked up at Bucky, and his face turned totally expressionless as he caught the ex-soldier's eyes.

“Uh. Good morning?”

Bucky chuckled. “More like good afternoon. Nearly good evening.”

“Oh,” Clint responded, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, sure. Um... I was kind of hogging your place on the couch, right?” he asked with a wince.

Bucky shrugged. “Kinda, but it's not big deal.”

“Cool. I mean, thanks. I'm gonna...” He stood up and vaguely gestured towards the hallway. “I'm gonna grab a shower or something, I guess.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow but nodded, and then Clint left, leaving him to return to his reading.

 

Three.

 

Two weeks later, Clint and Natasha were on a mission together when an emergency had all the other Avengers deployed. Something about a city crashing into the Hudson river. Steve shrugged when he explained. Bucky couldn't be certain, but he was fairly sure that this kind of events hadn't actually been commonplace back in the 1900's. How did Steve manage to be so blasé about it? He refrained from commenting though, and volunteered to stay at the Tower and hold down the fort. They both knew the Tower could hold itself very nicely, but if Bucky asked to stay, Steve didn't have to ask _him_ , and get all heartbroken about how he trusted Bucky but wasn't sure if he was ready yet to be put in a potentially dangerous situation like that.

Bucky knew damn well that he wasn't ready, that there was no way to know how he would react, and that that could be dangerous both for him and for the others. He knew that, and that's why he tried to spare Steve the embarrassment of asking. Bucky knew that staying put was the right thing to do. But that didn't mean he liked it.

He could easily admit that the 21st century was a paradise when it came to easy entertainment, what with things like e-books and Netflix and Youtube, or Tony's extensive collection of video games which seemed to be played by almost everybody except for Tony himself.

But all the entertainment in the world couldn't stop Bucky from ruminating the fact that if he had to stay behind during missions, it was because he couldn't be trusted, because he was dangerous, because he was _broken_. It was because he wasn't _Bucky_ anymore, but wasn't the Winter Soldier, was an ex-soldier, ex-assassin with half a memory and panic attacks, was a mess and a dead-weight for a best friend he only remembered in broken anecdotes.

And so Bucky (not _Bucky_ ) found himself on that same couch Clint Barton seemed to be found of sleeping on, wide awake and _alone_. Maybe there had been some truth in his therapist's insistence that social contact would help him stay himself. He still didn't like loud noises or having too many people talk at the same time, but he had come to appreciate having actual relationships with people. Other people remembered him, him _now_ and _he_ remembered _them_. So that was something.

There was live coverage of what was happening by the river, so Bucky had put the television on, though he kept it on mute. That way at least he would have an idea of when the others would be back.

Bucky heard a door banging close. He checked the TV, making sure that he hadn't just blanked out without realising and missed the others' return, but from what he could see the situation was still the same.

Bucky froze. Then he took a deep breath and stood up from where he was seated. He didn't have any weapon on him. It would have been too dangerous if he blanked out. So he moved towards the kitchen and picked up a light but sharp knife.

He couldn't hear any footsteps, which could either mean that the person who had entered was exceptionally light on their feet or that they had been trained to be discreet.

But why hadn't the security system picked up on the intruder's presence?

Bucky walked into the corridor which lead to the kitchen, living-room and dining-room on one side and to a set of two bedrooms with en-suite bathrooms on the other. In the middle of the hallway, on either side, were the elevator and staircase. Bucky approached the latter, knife carefully held in his hand.

Without a sound, he turned towards the staircase, weapon ready, and immediately cursed when he saw Clint nearly tumble backwards in surprise. He reached out with one hand to steady the other man, but Clint pushed him away. He somehow found his balance again and actually jumped down a few steps, fists closing and body tensed. With the new distance between them, they finally took the time to properly look at each other.

Clint immediately relaxed, and smiled apologetically. “Sorry. Didn't know it was you.”

Bucky put his knife down calmly and shrugged. “Sorry. Didn't know it was you.”

That made Clint grin. “Honestly, with the ratio of ex-assassins, ex-soldiers, spies and other PTSD-riddled world-savers represented in this tower, I'm surprised this kind of thing doesn't happen more often.”

“Oh, so you don't actually accidentally kill each other on a regular basis? Good to know.”

Clint grinned wider. “Nah, apparently we were waiting on you to spice things up.”

Clint spoke so naturally that the remark which could have been made to point out the threat that Bucky represented felt like a friendly joke instead.

“Fancy eating something? Nat and I just got back from a mission and I'm _starving_.”

Bucky stepped away from the staircase entrance and let Clint lead the way to the kitchen.

He opened a box of pop-tarts and offered Bucky some, which he refused. Clint shrugged and heated up his pastries while Bucky picked up an apple. They ate in silence, then Bucky walked back to the living-room where the TV was still running.

“Oh. So that's the thing they called in the others for.”

“Yeah. They don't need you on that?” Bucky asked. He didn't actually want the archer to leave, but also didn't want to be responsible for his staying there if he was needed.

“Nah, they've got this covered, I think. From what they're saying there doesn't seem to be any immediate threat of violence. It'll probably be boring diplomatic work.”

“Want me to turn up the sound?”

“No, it's okay. Leave it off.”

They were both sitting on the same couch, though on opposite ends. Silence fell again as they watched the muted TV, and soon Clint was drifting asleep. Bucky stayed where he was, and actually started drifting off himself. A few hours later, Sam, Wanda and Rhodey came in, and Bucky straightened up again to welcome them home.

“Look all cozied up right there,” Sam said with a smile, pointing at Clint's sleeping form, sprawled uncomfortably on the sofa.

Bucky shrugged. “He fell asleep and I was too lazy to move.”

“Sure.”

“How was the mission?”

“The city's inhabitants seem pretty much as spooked as we are. Tony and Steve are still over there acting as diplomatic representants.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“No, I know, they don't look like it but they actually work well together. Trust me on that.”

“Okay.”

“We're gonna make something to eat, do you think we should wake Clint up?”

Bucky turned back to the blond man next to him. He shaked his head. “No, I think he's fine.”

 

Four.

 

Bucky was reading a book while Clint was watching cartoons, because somehow that was a thing they had started doing. Bucky had realised that Clint wasn't actually fond of small-talk either. He was enthusiastic when he participated in conversation, interrupted with sarcastic comments from time to time, but he only talked if he had something to say, or something to hide. Bucky didn't have a lot to say. He was still figuring himself out as well as the world around him, and was content to do that in silence. So it worked. They would sit together, both doing their own thing, and sometimes they would exchange a few words, sometimes not even that. But Steve smiled every time he saw them together, and that was a good thing.

Bucky still didn't know how to act around Steve. There were things he remembered, and things he didn't, and things that Steve thought he remembered. And all of these conflicted with each other and gave him headaches. He knew Steve was his friend, his best friend, like a brother to him. He knew that, and he knew that it hurt to see Steve sad and in pain. So he tried, tried to act like he remembered the man he was supposed to be. But it was exhausting.

Clint was the opposite of that. Clint had no expectations. Clint had no idea who he was or who he was supposed to be, and seemed to be content with that.

Bucky was still reading his book. He reached for the glass of water he had left next to the couch, and that was when he realised that Clint wasn't watching cartoons anymore. He was staring at the small red light at the edge of the television screen that indicated it was turned on. He was only blinking every few seconds.

“Clint?” He waited. “Clint?”

The man didn't respond.

Bucky couldn't help himself. He started shaking.

Clint wasn't responding. He was staring at nothing, not moving, not responding. Bucky knew how that felt. He knew how that felt, because he did the same thing. Except he had no idea how to get Clint out of that headspace. He couldn't get _himself_ out. How would he handle someone else?

Except there was no one else in the room.

Bucky didn't even think about calling for help, too scared to do anything but act _now_ , because something was wrong and he had to do _something_.

He remembered Clint calming him down during movie night, and kneeled down in front of the other man, trying to catch his gaze. Clint just stared right through him.

Bucky could feel his own breathing quicken. That wasn't right. He couldn't panic now, because he had to help Clint. He couldn't panic now, because Clint wasn't there to help him.

“Clint. Hey.” He snapped his fingers in front of Clint's eyes, which only made the other man blink.

He slowly put a hand on Clint's knee. “Clint. Barton. Hawkeye. Come on. Snap out of it.”

No reaction.

Bucky didn't know what to do. He didn't know what Steve did to brought him back, most of the time was only half-conscious that he was talking. He didn't know what to do, and he was _scared_.

He gripped Clint's shirt, pulling him forward without meaning to, just because he wanted something to cling on.

That made Clint react.

The archer lashed out, bending Bucky's wrist then kicking him in the chest to push him away. Falling backward, he caught Clint's ankle in his left hand and pulled, sending the other man sprawling on the floor. Clint tried to kick him again with his other leg, aiming first for his shoulder, then his face. Bucky let him go to dodge and scramble backward. He stood up again, as Clint tried to do the same thing, body coiled in a defensive stand. Bucky reached forward, caught one of Clint's wrist and tried to kick his legs out from under him. It didn't work, and Clint landed a kick to his ribs that Bucky took with a grunt.

Bucky slammed his shoulder into Clint's chest and let himself fall forward. _That_ worked. Both men found themselves back on the floor. Before he could move, Bucky trapped Clint with his metal arm and sat down on him, straddling his hips.

He stayed still for a few long seconds, then bent forward, crossing gaze with the archer. Clint was panting slightly, eyes wild, but at least there was recognition on his face.

Bucky was feeling out of breath too.

“Hey. You with me?”

Clint swallowed, then gave a quick nod.

“Breathe with me, okay?”

Clint nodded again, and they both took a deep breath, letting it out too quickly. They did it again, and again, and again, until both their breathings were back to some kind of normal.

“Damn, Barnes, you're heavy.”

Bucky smiled and stood up, giving Clint a hand so he would do the same.

“Sorry about that,” the blond said, gesturing at himself.

Bucky frowned. “It's fine. It happens. I... I didn't know what to do to get you out of it. Sorry.”

“Nah, it's fine. It worked. Sorry I kicked you.”

“Sorry I slammed you into the ground.”

Clint started laughing, which only confused Bucky. “Okay, I guess we're even.”

 

Five.

 

One time, Bucky felt both relaxed and exhausted enough to fall asleep during movie night. It had been a week since his last panic attack, more than two since he'd had a complete shut-down. He woke up disoriented, but somehow the scariest thing was that he had felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in a public space like this.

He immediately sat up, checking the room for threats. Clint waved at him from one of the beanbags.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty #2. Don't frown at me, Sleeping Beauty #1 is Cap'.” He raised the bowl he was holding in one hand, which appeared to contain fruit salad.

Bucky frowned harder. It was the healthiest thing that Bucky had ever seen in Clint's hands outside of the dinners they shared with the others.

“Want some? Natasha made it as dessert. There's still a ton left.”

That explained it then. Bucky looked at the bowl in Clint's hands. He was actually feeling a bit hungry, yeah. He nodded, and Clint stood up, stretching his arms above his head, carefully as not to spill anything.

“What time is it?”

“3AM?” Clint replied, around the spoon he had put in his mouth. “Something like that?”

Bucky didn't ask why Clint had been eating fruit salad next to him in the middle of the night. He was grateful he hadn't been left alone.

 

\+ One.

 

“Okay, but see that flag over there? It indicates strong wind from the west. Your target is too far away, you won't be precise enough.”

“This isn't a small pistol, it's a rifle. Bullets are small, and with the power this gun has? It shouldn't be a problem.”

“Yeah, but we've already established that they got the relative powers of their weapons all wrong.”

“You said yourself that the point of the game was to ignore that!”

“Okay, yeah, fine, take the shot, Russian-Know-It-All #2.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Number one's Natasha,” Clint said with a shrug.

“I'm not Russian,” the other man pointed out.

“Same difference. Take the shot.”

So Bucky did. He aimed and pressed the trigger. Both men started laughing as a box a good three meters away from the one he'd been aiming at exploded.

“That was better than I expected,” Clint said with a smile.

“Maybe it's because I'm a better shot than you.”

“Oh, you are so on.” He reached for the Playstation controller, which Bucky handed over with a grin.

Bucky wasn't sure when shooting things in video games and laughing at how inaccurate they were had become a thing he looked forward to doing. But he was enjoying himself, and Clint's company, and willing not to question it.

Clint lined up his shot in the game, and Bucky knew that in real life he would have definitely hit his target. Of course, in the game, he missed atrociously.

“See? I'm just better than you.”

“Fuck off you are not. We are totally trying this in real life someday. I will kick your ass.”

“Hey there, lovebirds!” Tony's voice interrupted. They both turned towards the third man, who was standing at the edge of the circle of couches that surrounded the TV screen. “Are you actually eating with us or should we count you out because you're too busy flirting?”

Bucky froze. Was that what they had been doing? It wasn't what he had been doing. He hadn't been flirting. Flirting involved wanting sex, or wanted to date and... Bucky didn't want to date Clint Barton. He couldn't date Clint Barton. It wouldn't be right. He didn't want to have a romantic relationship when he barely knew who he was, he didn't want the pressure, couldn't bear the amount of trust it represented, trust on both sides. He wasn't the charming man of the 1930's, the man surrounded by smells of ladies' perfume, cigarettes and sweat from dancing halls. He couldn't be that man anymore.

“Oh my god, Stark, _gross!_ ” Clint sounded properly offended, but Bucky felt the feet that were resting against his thigh press into him. Clint wasn't pulling away. He was pressing in closer. But he wasn't flirting either? “Get your dirty romo away from me and my buddy Bucky, you heathen.”

Tony laughed and backed away. “Okay, okay. But come on guys, get moving or there won't be any food left.”

Bucky was still frowning when Clint turned towards him again. “Don't listen to him, he's an ass.” He paused, then faltered. “Uh- I mean, that's... That's if you... You weren't actually flirting with me, right? Because sometimes I can't tell the difference. And, like, you're a cool guy, it's been fun to hang out with you, like, I get to be lowkey around you and it's relaxing. And you actually seem to like my jokes. So yeah. You're pretty great. But, um, I'm not like, interested in dating. Romance. Whatever. It's not my thing. So if you were flirting and I was flirting back, I'm really sorry. I didn't know. I didn't want to lead you on or anything, I just... I just really can't do the romance thing.”

Bucky felt completely lost. Clint was talking way too fast. He was completely lost, and became even more so when he felt laughter bubble in his chest. But he couldn't help himself. He started giggling. Honest to god _giggling_ , and that was just _embarrassing_.

Clint gaped at him like he had just sprouted a second head, and that only made Bucky laugh harder. Up to the point where Clint's surprise turned to concern and Bucky realised that he might sound slightly hysterical. He held up a hand, trying to force himself to calm down. He signed the letters for “OK”, making a circle with his fingers, then raising his index, straightening his middle finger perpendicularly and putting the tip of his thumb between the two. Clint had taught him a few basic signs once as he talked him out of a panic attack. Together they had become quite good at handling the smaller ones, though Steve still had to help with the worst ones in case Bucky got violent.

“It's fine, Clint,” he finally said once his laughter had completely died down. “It's fine. I wasn't flirting with you either. That kind of thing hasn't really been on my mind a lot these days.”

Clint sighed in relief. “Okay. Good. That's good. Sorry I freaked out. It's just... that has actually happened to me before. Accidental flirting.”

“No worries. Won't happen with me.”

“Cool.” He paused. “Um. Should we go have dinner with the others?”

He pointed to the kitchen where Tony had disappeared.

Bucky considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “I'm not really hungry, actually. You?”

Clint grinned. “Nah. Want to keep defying physics in video games?” He asked, picking up the controller from his lap.

“Hell yeah,” Bucky replied, snatching it from him.

 


End file.
